


In Another's Eyes

by ind1go_ink



Series: Fear No Dark [3]
Category: Lazer Team (2015)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Monster!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6538111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ind1go_ink/pseuds/ind1go_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A (short!) addition!<br/>Massive ups to BlackBat09 for also supporting the further developments with this AU - They know what I'm talking about *finger guns*</p><p>No but seriously, thank you to anyone who reads this because writing this AU is my life and I will cherish any kudos or comments for the rest of my life. And to BlackBat09 for being a huge inspiration and also telling me when I post wrong stuff to our blog.</p>
    </blockquote>





	In Another's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> A (short!) addition!  
> Massive ups to BlackBat09 for also supporting the further developments with this AU - They know what I'm talking about *finger guns*
> 
> No but seriously, thank you to anyone who reads this because writing this AU is my life and I will cherish any kudos or comments for the rest of my life. And to BlackBat09 for being a huge inspiration and also telling me when I post wrong stuff to our blog.

It's a slow morning for Herman Mendoza. He startles awake when alarms blare through the tiny room the Lazer Team calls home. Barely thinks about the fact that Woody and Zach aren't there with them, his thinking is more along of the lines of  _ 5 o-fuckin-clock in the morning my ass _ . It's just Hagan and him, and there's no way he's going to let Hagan lecture him  _ again  _ about the importance of calculating his trajectory when he's running.

So he makes his slow escape, limping out of the door before Hagan has rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Vandenbloom meets him outside in the corridor with a raised eyebrow and a curt nod, hands clasped behind his back.

Herman shoots him a reproachful look. Usually when Vandenbloom shows up it's because Major Emory wants to have, as he puts it, ‘words’.

“Man, you better wait till I have some food in me or I might bite Emory’s head off.” Herman snarks, trying to limp his way past Vandenbloom. The officer quickly steps in front of him with a stuttered mess of words escaping, an instant look of apologetic sympathy crossing his features.

It takes Herman a moment to decipher his words but even then he gives Vandenbloom the chance to explain.

“It’s not the Major,” He stutters, shoulders looking small in his overlarge officer's jacket. “It’s your teammates, something has happened.”

Herman tries to recall seeing the two boys any time after they'd left the training room and feels a dull spike of worry drive into his gut.

“What kinda shit did they do this time?” He demands, recalling his memories of the last time Woody and Zach had been messing around. Half of the science block had gone up in flames and Herman  _ still  _ couldn't get the image of a burnt scrawny naked Woody scrambling for cover out of his head.

Naturally the helmet had been unharmed.

Vandenbloom cheeks turn a ghastly unnatural pale white. “Perhaps you had better come with me, Herman?”

~

Herman swallows back the bite of acid rising in his throat. The whole room stinks of feral animals. Fur and musk. It's so unlike the usual sterile smell of the military base he has to turn to Vandenbloom, who's standing a few feet behind him. Even with the protective shield of the thick bulletproof glass he still looks terrified.

“O-Okay, look. We found these two in Woody’s lab. We think the one that's Woody was passed out, but Zach-” Vandenbloom gestures to a large hulking mass of purple fur, sunken into a corner, shuddering. “- Was still… Conscious. He, uh, was crying. Hurting himself.”

Vandenbloom’s voice falls to a whisper. “We don't know what to do.”

Herman’s gaze goes back to the massive hulking beasts, separated by two sets of thick iron bars and a corridor, one shaking in a corner in one room, the other in the other room with it's maw wide open, thick acid green tongue hanging out - the deep rising and falling of it's chest suggesting sleep.

Herman feels his disbelief rise once again. He wants to scream that this isn't Woody, not his Woody. Not the kid he'd taken under his wing and mentored and looked after for so many years.  Even with the helmet Woody was still sort of the Woody he knew, still silly, still prone to mistakes. This  _ thing  _ is not Woody.

But the helmet, fused into it's skull, the thick brow protruding past the confines of the helmet, the ring still firmly embedded into it's malformed shoulders, tells Herman all he needs to know.

“Can they talk?” He turns back to Vandenbloom. The officer shrugs, eyes fully trained on the beasts on the other side of the wall, rocking onto the balls of his feet and back again. A nervous tick that Herman takes note of.

“We haven't tried to engage them.”

Herman turns, again, to the window, considering his options. 

“Send me in.”

~

It's a savage crooning that meets Herman’s ears when he steps into the room, two soldiers armed with heavy firepower at his back. The stench of musk is stronger than ever, and Herman tries not to gag at the way it worms into his airways, so thick it could clog his throat and suffocate him.

He walks forward, the cells themselves are midway through the corridor, and the soldiers had insisted they keep the lights off till they reach the cells where the beasts are kept.

Despite the knowledge that, to a certain degree, he’s safe. Herman still feels his hands start to tremble, sweat beading along his brow and upper lip. 

“You sure they won’t hurt me?” He whispers to the guards. They give no response, just glance at each other, and Herman knows he’s doomed.

“It’s still Woody,” He chants to himself softly, hands clenching on nothing, his steps echoing off the closed in concrete walls. “It’s still Woody,”

He repeats this as the cells come up, the lights going on and making Herman startle, skidding backwards for a moment before pressing on, determined to see this through.

His heart falters for a moment when he hears snarls and growls, one a low timbre, rough and patchy. The other with a strange lilt to it, with softened growls but louder, more aggressive snarls.

When Herman finally sees them up close, both with hands clenching around the iron bars, thick black  _ deadly  _ claws scraping protests from the metal, he wants to faint, to run and never look back.

But this is Woody,  _ his  _ Woody. He has to do something.

“Herman,” It’s the helmet, he sees the snout move, but what hits his ears is different. It’s British and very Woody-sounding, but there’s an underlying change in his voice now, a raspier depth that curls Herman’s toes in his boots.

“Woody,” It’s an affirmation, with the way that Woody’s eyes glint in the dull light, so human that Herman could cry. “What’d you get yourself into this time, man?”

The pull back of Woody lips to reveal inhumanely large teeth, razor sharp and tinted purple, makes Herman shudder. “It’s just an experiment.”

He wants to believe that, wants to believe that it’s reversible. But the idea that it’s not, that somehow  _ his  _ Woody is gone forever to be replaced by this awful, twisted, fucked up thing makes Herman choke on a stunted breath.

And when Woody goes on about how he and Zach, because by this point there’s no questioning it, are ultimate predators, how lonely he got with his helmet, how he’s trapped. Herman feels his dread rise. This isn’t Woody anymore.

Something had gone wrong, and now he’s fucked up, not just physically.

Herman turns on his heel, motioning to the guards that he wants to leave. The echo of Woody’s choked laughter haunts Herman’s ears, his eyes squeezing shut reflexively as he strides to the door. The pain in his leg is momentarily forgotten as he reaches for the door knob. A howl fills the corridor, long and loud it’s almost painful. All it tells Herman is that he has to get his best friend back. He can’t let his friend suffer being so fucked up, so monstrously deformed.

No matter the cost.


End file.
